The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 18:27:53 -

The blowpipe lay cold in my hands, its iron tip still clinging to a bead of molten glass that had hardened into a dull, opaque sphere, and I held it up to the weak gray light filtering through the high windows of the furnace room, watching the surface ripple with a distortion that did not belong to the air. I am Elias, a glassblower of forty years, and this is the winter of 1342, a year defined...

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